After Ever After
by boothful
Summary: Oneshot. Takes place some 12 years after the Promised Day. "Not for the first time, Ed's resemblance to Hohenheim grew striking in his rage. If ever Roy wanted a moment to throw it in his face, it was now." Super dark.


**AN: There was a phrase in a tv show I was watching recently and I couldn't get the image of an adult Ed saying it to Roy out of my head, so you have that little flight of imagination to thank for this. This story takes place in the darkest timeline, where the future isn't all fun and flowers and babies, and it does get pretty gnarly. Most of it's left to the imagination, but what is there are references to some pretty graphic violence, and there's enough character death to go around and still have leftovers. I didn't really wanna write a whole world where so many characters I love aren't around anymore, so this is defo staying a one shot. Thought I'd give y'all a heads up on those two points. **

**ps: feel free to guess which line it was! and leave me a note if you liked it or think there's room for improvement! I love me some feedback.**

The west was burning, burning, burning.

5 thousand confirmed civilian deaths within the first 50 hours. They were a first strike and a message, wrapped efficiently in a city on fire and nightmares rushed the west region radiating outward from the flames with the rising sun. An announcement writ in innocent, sleeping blood. All it took was one night. The city was razed to the ground, the railway co-opted, and the old border war from the turn of the century flared forth with ravenous hunger.

"Where were you?"

Roy's question swung in the damp, putrid air of the freezing, old cabin. The amber of the dying coals showed the mess of filthy, overworn clothes overflowing from a never-unpacked case, scattered, crusted tins and plates, feeding spores of decay into the rotten wood and ancient, abused couch Roy wouldn't even rest his boots on for risk of contamination.

The man seated there didn't move, his head bowed and his hands clasped between his knees. A damned angel who'd forgotten how to pray. His hair, unbound, hung limp across his shoulders, his once blond locks shrouding his eyes and showing only a thin, unshaven jaw slackened in disregard.

"Edward."

The young man might have flinched. It might have been a trick of the light.

Amestris might have adjusted to peace as easily as an old dog to a new cushion, but 12 years was not quite long enough to dull its reflexes. Even so, as retired men and women flocked in droves to take back the nearest territory, as his every waking second was given to issuing orders that rushed away from him weaving troops, ammunition, civilians, rivals, friends into place across the nation, General Roy Mustang knew this war would be nothing like any he'd seen before.

When the bodies of Papaus' women and children were found laid out on the tracks, flesh charred, faces burned until their skulls peeked through behind their empty sockets, he knew what it was.

War was hell. This wasn't war.

Rage boiled within Roy. "20,000 people are _dead__,_" he hissed. Ed's head sank lower. God, he wanted to rage at him. Snap his fingers and light the fetid, browned flower print under his ass. Put his fist through that empty expression that had no business on the face of the man who played god and won.

"That's war, Mustang," Ed breathed, his voice gravelly and unaffected.

Something snapped in Roy. He lunged forward, knocking the small barrel of a fireplace over and sending the coals skidding across the floor, illuminating Ed's face as Roy's fist connected with it.

Ed's head snapped to the side, and when he looked back, the lava under his dead eyes smoldered. He shoved back, hard, and wheeled around with a fist of his own. The pain of it as it struck Roy in the gut had him staggering backward into a shelf that gave way, leaving long bruising down his back.

That was all the permission he needed. He unsplayed himself and launched again. Ed ducked, parried, hit back. But he'd been out of the game too long. He'd grown rusty. The rush of fury blossomed and mutated ever stronger with blow after blow until the young man reeled. Just one more and he'd be down, so Roy could drag his useless, cowardly hind to East City. He'd force Ed to look at them. To look at Jean's forever silent face and he could just try to explain himself then. Roy's clambered on top of Ed, his fingers closing around his throat.

Legs pinned beneath Roy's weight, Ed scratched at his hands, pushing desperately at Roy's face with the heel of his palm. Fear leapt out from his watering, sunken eyes. He deserved this. If he hadn't disappeared off the face of the earth, hadn't hid himself from god and mankind, from the man he _promised_ his loyalty to, he might have been there when Kaine was beheaded after his troops surrendered. When Jean took 4 more bullets after the one that killed him. When Hawkeye...

Ed's hands slackened, his fight bleeding out as his eyes, slowed and dizzy from oxygen deprivation, moved away from Roy and searched for a way out. His hands dropped outward searching. Then Roy heard the sound of metal and in a second, the metal pike was swinging upward. His head exploded in pain and his grip slipped, enough for Ed to catch one deep gasp and then Roy was being pummelled with all the skill and force of a wild animal.

And then the blows stopped. Roy clutched his stomach, forcing back the fluid that leaked from his busted cheeks and lips and filled his mouth with rust and bile.

Ed limped to the far wall and collapsed his shoulder into it, using it to keep himself upright as he panted, never taking his eyes off his once superior officer, once friend. The fire in him was out just as fast as it had flared to life.

"What happened to you?" Roy choked. He spat a fat dollop of blood onto the grimy floorboards. Ed just watched him. "You were unstoppable. You were a leader."

Ed laughed and the sound was harrowing. "Quit fantasizing about me, Mustang," he snarled just as his left leg buckled. He sank to the ground, groaning. "It just leaves you disappointed."

If Roy had a single glove on him, he might have burned those greasy locks right off. "Dammit, Edward," he roared, "you owe me."

"I don't owe you a goddamn thing," Ed shot back.

"You owe me _everything_!" Roy's fist pounded into the ground, sending tremors through the floor. Behind him, glass rolled and shattered. Ed didn't so much as flinch, his dead eyes and demonic snarl bent on Roy with concentrated hatred.

Then his face drooped, and he slumped forward, veiling himself in his hair and the shadows. Just like that, whatever reserves of self-preservation drained out, he dropped back into apathy. The stink of it filled every rotten seam of the cabin. Roy didn't know if he wanted to scream himself hoarse or puke.

"What do you want me to say?"

Ed was talking, his vile words dripping cold, ancient despair. "Want a nice little explanation that makes all this better? Want me to say I'm a pacifist? A traitor? A mad man who finally lost it?" He laughed, a small, genuine chuckle at some private joke.

"Shut up, you fool," Mustang growled, his trembling hands tightening as his stomach knotted over and over again. There was no excuse. They were his friends. His men. They fought to get him and his brother their happy endings. Jean lost his _legs_ for them. Riza nearly fucking _died_.

To Mustang's dismay, Ed did, for once, as ordered. Desire to unleash righteous fury warred with years upon years of self-restraint.

The young man sniffed him out. He announced his intention to speak with a deep sigh. "Wanna hit me? Beat some contrition outta me? Just... unload." Ed shrugged. "Go right ahead. I'm not gonna– well, actually, I'll probably stop you. But feel free."

"I see why you never sent out invites to this pity-party you're throwing yourself," Roy coldly sieved through clenched teeth, privately noting he might yet take him up on the offer. "I hope it feels as shit as it looks."

Ed chuckled. "It does."

Getting a couple of hits in and taking a few of his own cleared Roy's head a little. There had been a reason Roy left Central in the middle of the largest, most barbaric full-frontal attack Amestris had faced in centuries, came all the way here to Briggs, dragged himself through the cold to hunt down the last lead on the missing former Fullmetal Alchemist.

"Why."

It wasn't a question. Ed didn't treat it like one. Something fell away from him and he straightened like he'd been called to attention. "You don't know what powerlessness feels like."

Said like a normal response. With clarity of meaning.

Roy stared at him. "_I_ don't know?" he whispered. "I had to watch a lunatic slice open Hawkeye's throat! I watched a homunculus stab Havoc through the back! I was _pinned down_ and _FORCED_ to perform human transmutation!"

Beside him, something shattered off the table. Faintly, he noticed his hand hurt, but he didn't pay it any mind. His throat itched in a way that meant he was yelling. **"**I served in Ishval, and now, I'm leading boys and girls to face an enemy that has no mercy. Not to death, but desecration. My country, my people..." the words caught in his throat and he barrelled onward, smashing his fist into the nearest wall. Splintering wood and sharp pain fuelled him. He grabbed Ed by the collar and dragged the shaking, stunned man to his feet. "They're facing the worst monster that haunts the earth and I can't help them. I needed you. _They_ needed you. The Ed I knew would never abandon innocent people being slaughtered like vermin in their own country! Now answer me, where the fuck were you."

Ed's wide, gold eyes darted between Roy's. "Let go of me," he snapped, snatching himself out of the hold and shoving them both away from each other. Leaving himself exposed, Ed turned away and dragged the open suitcase forward. He reached in and flicked a weighty chained object Roy's way. It landed heavy in Roy's reflexively extended palm. He pulled it in. A watch, slightly larger, but similarly weighted as the silver pocket watch that sat in his own pocket.

With a click, the watch swung open. The seconds hand ticked even and accurately. His eyes slid to the cover. There, behind a thin sheet of cracked glass, lay two neatly folded locks, one long and blond, the other a shorter sun-kissed gold.

Blond and gold. Last they'd heard, Al was in Xing without plans to return for over a year. They assumed Winry left alongside Ed when he first dropped off the map 5 months ago. Roy half suspected they'd gone to find Al until he'd heard Ed had been spotted on the road near Briggs three weeks ago.

The fire that fueled him morphed into a suffocating clamp around his heart. He sought out Ed. "When," he said quietly.

"Almost 6 months ago."

A horror beyond Ed's words crept on the edges of Roy's mind; his heart staggered. The locket bore into his hand. "They're gone?"

Roy's chest filled with ice when Ed slowly nodded. "They got us. Wanted state secrets. Threatened to torture us."

"What did you tell them?"

Ed shook his head. "They didn't want anything from me. Just Al."

A wave of nausea hit Roy in the stomach. He looked at Ed again, _really_ looked at all the places he should have. A scar ringed around his throat highlighted by bruises where Roy's hands had just been. Something was clearly wrong with the connection between his leg and its port. Who knew what was hidden beneath the layers he wore?

"Did Al..."

"Yeah." Ed buried his face in his hands. "Once they started on Win. And you know what," his head snapped up, his jaw set defiantly. "I would've if he hadn't. I would've given them your goddamn address and the key to the front fucking door."

Roy slumped back until he felt the wall behind him where Ed had sat, and slowly sank into the same spot. Of course, Al would have said anything to protect Winry. He expected nothing less. It was surprising he sacrificed Ed to their enemies in the first place (though, Ed would have had something to do with that himself, if memory served). He nodded once and saw Ed sag in response.

"After that, they didn't need us anymore."

Just like that, everything the Elrics had fought for, every sacrifice they ever made, snuffed out in agonizing pain. Kaine's head on a pike floated into Roy's eyes and his stomach heaved. He scrambled to suppress it, reaching for anything.

"How–" he swallowed thickly. "How did you get out?"

Roy might as well have dropped a horse on Ed's back. "All that matters is they didn't." His voice trembled. "I couldn't- I didn't kill a single one of those monsters. I couldn't. I was too weak. And they k-" The word stopped like it'd cut him. He drew in another shuddering breath and when he spoke again, it was with the voice of a dead man. "It's our fault they're here and we've paid the price. There's nothing more I can do."

"You can stand up and fight." The coldness in his voice surprised him, yet Roy did feel a smudge of satisfaction when Ed flinched. "You _owe _it to this country."

"I can't."

"Edwa—"

"I can't!"

Hawkeye's voice over the phone, statically repeating "It's been an honor serving with you, sir. See you on the other side," as she did before every battle.

"Damn it, Elric…" he said warningly, dragging himself to his feet. "This isn't a debate."

"No, it's not." Ed followed suit. It seemed 5 months of isolation and grief hadn't dampened his ability to raise himself up for another round, even though his endurance seemed pretty shot. "I can't go out there."

"People are dying!"

"And I can't save them."

"When's the last time you tried? What?" Roy snarled when Ed looked away. "The world isn't worth saving if Alphonse or Miss Rockbell aren't in it?"

"Fuck you, I tried." Ed snapped. Not for the first time, his resemblance to Hohenheim grew striking in his rage. If ever Roy wanted a moment to throw it in his face, it was now, but Ed carried on, his voice cracking with the force of his volume. "The entire way back, I tried. I climbed through burned villages. I couldn't save anyone! They had to fucking save me, and they died in the process. My body's fucked, I have no alchemy, I haven't slept longer than 20 minutes in _months_, and god, I… I… keep hearing them screaming and…"

Roy stepped in front of the young man and grabbed him by the shoulder, gripping him hard enough for it to hurt. The pressure and steady arm holding him upright seemed to work, because Ed's breath steadied out, though he remained no less tense. "I can't—" he began desperately.

Roy cut him off, looking him dead in the eye. "You have to."

Ed let out a despairing, sarcastic laugh.

"Hawkeye's dead."

The smirk died on Ed's face and for the first time, Roy recognized something of the old Ed's gentleness in the sorrow there.

"Roy—" he whispered.

Roy cut him off. "So is Havoc, and Fuery."

With each name, Roy watched the wall against Ed's grief crumble in his eyes. Tears brimmed up and rolled silently down his face. He reached up and grabbed Roy's shoulders and fixed him in place.

Everything came crashing into each other. The news of horrors coming in from the battlefield, the flocks of traumatized, displaced families rushing inland, the slow trickle of images of skies darkened with smoke and ash at midday, watching his friends name come up amongst the fallen, one by one, the fear, the exhaustion of knowing every second that Amestrians were dying, the blanketing agony of waking up the next morning and knowing it was not a nightmare and she was gone forever and he was somehow supposed to get through this, win a war, and go on without her. And he just couldn't bear it anymore. Ed held him as he stood struggling to keep the last strands of dignity and sanity from breaking and sinking him.

They were all gone. There was so little left, and it was so far away but Roy knew it was all burning, burning. He could smell the charred flesh and hair, the hot dust and ash and blood in the freezing cabin, and the vacuum where Hawkeye once existed in the world and now didn't. This time, if he sunk, there'd be no climbing back out.

"I need you," he managed to choke out. His fingers were numb from digging into Ed's arm, but he pressed even harder, willing his eyes clear and swallowing the strangling lump in his throat. "Powerless or not. I can't do this alone. I can't keep going if…"

Ed searched Roy's face, his streaming eyes dazzling in the rawness of his pain. Something explosive and unfamiliar flickered in them. Then his face set and he gave one curt nod. "If I don't get to curl up and die out here, you don't get to either." He flashed his teeth in a snarl of a grin. "Let's give them hell."

He meant it like the curse it was. That's good. Roy was all out on Promises.


End file.
